This Indigested Vomit Of The Sea,fell To

Had We But World Enough, And Time, This Coyness, Lady, Were No Crime.

How Vainly Men Themselves Amaze, / To Win The Palm, The Oak, Or Bays; / And Their Incessant Labours See / Crowned From Some Single Herb Or Tree.

But Fate Does Iron Wedges Drive, And Always Crowds Itself Betwixt.

The Grave's A Fine And Private Place, But None, I Think, Do There Embrace.

The World In All Doth But Two Nations Bear- The Good, The Bad; And These Mixed Everywhere.